Sophie demolishes a rubber ball and leaves the evidence scattered across the hall carpet. She gives me her best ' . Surely you can't think it was me' look. I explain to her what being caught in flagrante delicto means. She yawns and falls asleep.
On our morning walk we see more rain storming in from the Bay of Biscay. You know you've reached a certain age when you find yourself saying something practical like '' the garden needs it ".
The pool closed. Geraniums unpotted. Garden taps wrapped and insulated against the cold. Bob and Sophie sit on the wooden table and watch what's going on. They get groomed. Within ten minutes Sophie looks as if she's never been near a brush in her life.
I wonder if folks in blogland would be as unenthusiastic as Angus about the thought of spending a three day weekend here in December ? It is a long way north. Here's the video http://treehotel.se/video